


odi et amo

by sideraclara (angeloscastiel)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 15:41:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3856090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angeloscastiel/pseuds/sideraclara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After two weeks of being broken up, Albus and Scorpius have had their public reconciliation. But there's so much more to be said behind closed doors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	odi et amo

 

“So.”

Scorpius broke the silence that had reigned between them since they left dinner as the door clicked closed behind him. Albus didn’t respond, just pulled out his wand and cast a silencing charm. He could do them nonverbally but spoke the incantation anyway, eyes not leaving Scorpius’s.

“We have some shit to sort out,” he said eventually.

“Yeah,” Scorpius agreed.

He didn’t ask what about; he already knew. Their conversation after Potions had been about Albus – stammered, sincere apologies and words that tumbled from his mouth like a waterfall of regret – _I love you, I’m sorry_ over and over, and Scorpius had taken his words and let them seep into his soul. _Healing,_ as clichéd as it was, with the handholding and caresses that had earned them the _fairytale love story_ title.

The fairytale was only ever half of their story.

“Come here,” Albus said, and kissed him – the kind of kiss reserved for when they were alone, hot and hard and far too short, and it left Scorpius burning. He had backed Scorpius against the hard stone of the dormitory wall, pinning him there, his collar unbuttoned like it always was immediately after the last class of the day and revealing a tantalising sliver of skin at the base of his throat.

It had been two weeks since Scorpius had kissed him there, two weeks since he last pulled off Albus’s shirt to reveal the lithe body underneath, two weeks since he had held him and tasted his skin, and he craved him like never before, body straining to close the infinitesimal space between them.

Albus held his gaze, reaching out one hand to pull Scorpius’s tie loose and undo the top buttons of his collar, fingertips ghosting over the bruises he found there.

“Ah,” he said quietly.

Scorpius shifted, wanting to look away but unable to, and Albus finished unbuttoning his shirt and let it fall open.

“You’ve been busy,” he noted, his gaze drifting downwards and sweeping back up, taking in every mark left on Scorpius’s skin.

“You already knew that.”

“It’s different seeing it,” he said softly, balling the hem of Scorpius’s shirt in one fist and reeling him in. He reached up with the other hand, brushing the biggest bruise on Scorpius’s neck with the pad of his thumb. “Who was this?”

“Sean Finnigan.”

“And this one?”

“Logan Fenwick.”

“How many were there?”

“Six.”

“Six,” Albus repeated. “That’s twice the number I heard.”

“You left me.” Scorpius wasn’t going to play this game. He waited, ready for the explosion, ready for the fight and the old familiar pattern – fuck first, talk later, he’d been waiting all day for this, needed this – _yell at me, Albus, yell at me and fuck me._

Albus kissed him instead, no trace of his earlier tenderness, rough and scratchy with stubble, and trailed his lips down to Scorpius’s neck. “This one was me,” he said, sucking hard on Scorpius’s skin before pulling away and meeting his gaze, eyes bright and impossibly green.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he murmured. “Metaphors of jealousy.” He pulled Scorpius’s shirt off his shoulders, tossing it aside and pushing him back against the wall, hands anchored on his hips and teeth nipping at the underside of his jaw. “Am I a monster yet?”

Scorpius gasped, closing his eyes and fumbling with the buttons on Albus’s shirt before giving up and tearing the fabric – he would fix it later, and he knew he was the image of desperation but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He wanted Albus, needed him with a carnal intensity that threatened to overwhelm him – Albus, in all his dark, brooding perfection, Heathcliff incarnate, pressed against him skin to skin.

“You’ve never ripped my shirt before,” Albus said, breath hot in Scorpius’s ear. “Six others and you’re still this desperate?”

“Only for you,” Scorpius breathed, reaching for Albus’s belt.

"Those others, I bet they had expectations, didn't they? The ice king, the Head Boy, with all his quiet rage." Albus's tone was mocking. "But you couldn't deliver, could you? All your pride, all your airs and graces, and you're happiest on your knees. Eight languages just to give your lips something to do when they're not wrapped around my cock." A ghost of a smile flitted, triumphant, across his face. "I've been knocking you off your pedestal and fucking you into your mattress since I was fifteen, Scorpius Malfoy. Welcome home."

“Fuck you,” Scorpius growled, giving the belt a sharp tug to pull Albus closer before tossing it aside. “You put me on that pedestal in the first place. You can’t even say my name without making it sound like a prayer.” He sank down to the midnight-blue carpet. “And just because I’m on my knees doesn’t mean you’re not the one worshipping.”

He didn’t give Albus the chance to reply, unzipping his trousers and pulling them down. Albus’s hands were already in his hair, grabbing fistfuls and raking it back as Scorpius mouthed at the cotton of his underwear. He couldn’t tell, now, if he loved or hated Albus – maybe it was both in equal measure – just that he wanted to take him, swallow him down, drown in him until they were one again.

He yanked down Albus’s underwear and let it drop to the floor, kissing along the length of his cock before taking him, hot and hard, into his mouth. Albus let out a shuddering gasp, fingers tightening in Scorpius’s hair. “Scorpius,” he groaned, an exaltation, and Scorpius smiled around him as he sucked, tongue swirling. He had won – the battle if not the war; it was always his lips that made Albus’s silent.

Until now.

“Whose was the last dick you had in your mouth?” Albus asked. “Sean’s or Logan’s? Or some pimply fifth-year who hasn’t even sat his OWLs yet? Did they ever wonder at how far you’ve fallen?”

Albus tugged his hair, forcing him to look up, and his words seemed to die on his lips at Scorpius’s flintlike glare. He pulled away, on his feet and forcing Albus against the wall before he even knew what he was doing. “Let me make one thing crystal clear for you,” he said icily, hand wrapping around Albus’s cock as he loomed closer – oh yes, he had the upper hand now, it was Albus trapped in his piercing gaze – “I don’t get on my knees for _anyone_ but you. I don’t suck anyone’s dick but yours. And that’s more information than you deserve, but I thought I’d set the record straight because you have your head shoved so far up your own arse I’d get a blowjob if I tried fucking you.”

Albus pushed him roughly onto his bed, trailing kisses that would leave bruises along his collarbone as he peeled off the rest of his clothes. “You still let them fuck you.”

“I _wanted_ them to fuck me.” Albus was as desperate as he was; he could say anything now. “You’re wrong about me, you got it backwards. They came looking for a blond twink with ink-stained fingers and carpet burns on his knees and they got me instead. I didn’t _let_ them fuck me, I _told_ them to. When and where and how hard and how rough, and they obeyed.”

“I’m glad I helped you figure out what you really want,” Albus snarled, curling his hand around Scorpius’s cock. “Some Gryffindor’s dick in your arse, yours to control like a fucking marionette.”

“I wanted your dick in my arse, but you weren’t an option.”

Silence, broken only by the sound of their heavy breathing. Albus’s hand tightened and quickened, and Scorpius gritted his teeth – he wasn’t ready for this, because the moment he came was the moment he forgave and Albus knew it. “I should have known you’d take the easy way out,” he said, and Albus stopped.

“Turn over.”

“No. You look me in the eye while you fuck me or you don’t fuck me at all.”

“I suppose I’ll have to.” Albus’s voice was low, laced with venom. “Or you’ll run off and find someone else to do it.”

“And you’re left with nothing but your hand and your fantasies of me.” It was Scorpius’s turn to mock. “Because that’s what you’re so hung up on, isn’t it? That I ruined you for everyone else, and you didn’t ruin me.”

Albus froze, and for a moment Scorpius wondered if he had gone too far, finally crossed the line that had been pushed so far back he couldn’t even see it anymore, but then an almost predatory smile crept across Albus’s face as he whispered into Scorpius’s ear, “I can ruin you.”

He knew they were done with words now, let that promise hang in the air and send shivers down his spine as Albus kissed him – on the lips this time, a parody of sweetness and innocence while his hand reached for the top drawer of the nightstand.

One finger at first; Scorpius rolled his hips to meet it and Albus smiled against his jaw, fleeting and genuine with a soft laugh that brushed his skin, and a jolt of pure love broke through the cloud of hatred and anger and hurt and lust, and Scorpius wrapped his legs around Albus’s waist and anchored him in place.

 _Odi et amo,_ he thought desperately, and kissed him hard.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Albus said, and Scorpius closed his eyes and laced the fingers of their free hands together.

“Please.” All the words he needed, all the words he would ever need when Albus was above him like this, touching him like this, looking at him like he was a shimmering oasis and Albus a man dying of thirst.

He almost expected an _already_ or an _are you sure_ and in their absence he wondered, fleetingly, if maybe Albus wanted to hurt him; knew that if Scorpius asked for it, he would in a heartbeat. Trails of bruises and scratches and the scrapes of teeth, etching colour into his pale skin; he liked it rough, knew that now, but _Albus_.

Albus _would_ ruin him.

“You’re mine,” Albus murmured, an edge creeping back into his voice and his cock pressed hard against Scorpius. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” in a single, sharp exhale as Albus pushed into him, a slow incremental burn.

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours,” Scorpius repeated, and he wanted to cling to the words even as they left his mouth, speak them again and again, his catechism, things he would never say in the light of day; words like _possessive_ rose with the sun, but in the absence of it all that mattered was need and greed, lust and sin and everything carnal. They were creatures of the night, he and Albus, shedding _sophrosyne_ at sunset, Dionysiac in the darkness. “I’m yours.” A pause, a beat, a slight hitch in his breath that betrayed him. “Make me yours again.”

Albus did.

Kisses that left new bruises above old ones, nails dug into hips deep enough to draw crimson forth, gasps swallowed by greedy lips, fingers raking through hair, his own desperate hands grasping at the sheets, pain and pleasure in equal measure, _odi et amo._

He had never burned like this before, but if he was flame then Albus was the sun, Apollo resplendent and ruthless, claiming him and marking him anew. _Ruin me, ruin me, ruin me._

Albus came with a low moan seconds after he did, collapsing on top of him as their hearts beat a frantic tattoo against each other’s chests and their once-desperate kisses became slow and languid.

“You did,” Scorpius murmured into the silence. “You ruined me.”

Albus gave him a long, appraising stare, gaze sweeping the length of his body. “Good.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> odi et amo - i love and i hate
> 
> sophrosyne - self-control


End file.
